


Neighbors

by BirdOfHermes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, First Dates, Schmoop, Steve is way too friendly and sweet, Tumblr, Unrequited Crush, all of the schmoop, date fluff, seriously there is no plot it's just adorable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-12 17:44:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4488825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdOfHermes/pseuds/BirdOfHermes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your dog sitter cancels at the last minute and your unbearably gorgeous yet sweet neighbor offers to take care of the dog for an afternoon. Based on a photoset on Tumblr where Chris Evans says, "[Cap]'s a good guy! He'll babysit your dog if you're out of town."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No, seriously, it's just silly fluff that struck me after I saw this photoset (http://minaminokyoko.tumblr.com/post/125732720673/if-you-and-thor-had-to-go-out-mel-you-cant) and I felt like sharing it because the idea truly made me smile and say, "Oh my God, Steve WOULD do that!"

“Mel, you can’t just flake out on me last second! It’s tomorrow! ...oh, yeah, just cough up $80 to hire someone on Angie’s List? Do you know how many thousands of dollars I’m in debt already? Just...just...ugh!”

You hang up the phone, wishing it had been one of those old rotary phones just so you could hear that satisfying clang after you hung up. Damn 2012 and its sleek little iPhone.

You turn to head for the mailbox and collide with someone, stumbling a little between the person and the dog leash currently trying to wrap itself around your knees.

“Ack, sorry, I--” Two large, warm hands steady your shoulders and you stare open-mouthed into sun-warmed blue eyes, a perfect square chin, and soft lips curled slightly in a friendly smile. It’s your next door neighbor, Steve. Handsome, gorgeous, too-sweet-for-any-word-in-the-English-language Steve.

“You okay?” he asks, glancing at the phone still clutched in your hand. “That sounded like quite an argument.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, raking a hand through your hair to push it out of your eyes. Mostly so you can see him better. God, what a body... “My dog-sitter canceled last second and my BAR exam is in the morning.”

Steve frowns and kneels down to pet the ball of fluff known as Balto. Your Alaskan Malamute immediately jumps up to lick him and he laughs and it’s like freaking sunshine in a sound. You barely see him outside of using the laundry or getting the mail because studying for the BAR is 110% of your life, and has been for the past few years, but the old crush lingers like well-made, expensive cologne. “That’s a shame. What time will you be back?”

“I don’t know. It’s in the morning, but my guess is I wouldn’t be back until late afternoon, especially since I have to take the bus.”

Steve stands, thoroughly covered in fur and still grinning at the dog. “Well, I do have tomorrow off. I could watch him for you.”

You gape. “You...no, no, Steve, that’s out of the question. You don’t even know me that well and it’s such a big favor to ask.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “We’re neighbors. You’d do the same for me. I promise, it’s not an imposition. Balto’s a good boy. Shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“But--I--you...” You gesture between him, the dog, and yourself and feel your cheeks filling with color as he stares at you with that same infuriating grin and raised eyebrows, as if to say, “Come on, you know you want to say yes.” 

Your shoulders slump and you stare at your feet before mumbling, “W-Well, as long as you really don’t mind.”

“I don’t, I promise. We’ll take a few rounds around the park and he’ll be fine.”

“Thank you. Seriously. How much do you want?”

“No money,” he says sternly, and it’s remarkably like a school teacher kind of tone. “I mean it. It’s a favor.”

“Right. I’ll pay you back some other way, I promise.”

He tilts his head, giving you a playful look. “Do you bake?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Batch of cookies and we’ll call it even.” He holds out his hand. You grin and shake it, hoping he won’t notice how hard you’re blushing from one simple point of contact. He’s definitely bad for the heart.

“So, uh, I’ll be by your place in the morning around seven,” you say, nudging the dog so Steve can pass by to go back to his room. 

“See you then, neighbor.” He winks and disappears down the hall. You’re pretty sure he just took a big hunk of your heart with him.

* * *

 

**Two days later...**

“I’m sorry!” Mel whines for the hundredth time, pouting as she watches you carefully place your grandfather’s famous peanut butter-chocolate chip cookies neatly into the little basket you bought. “I swear, it was an emergency!”

“Yeah-huh,” you say, rolling your eyes as you place the last one in there. “Doesn’t matter. Steve took care of it.”

Mel’s plucked eyebrows lift. “Steve? Is that the unbelievably cute yet nice neighbor I’ve heard so much about? And since when are you on a first name basis?”

“I don’t know his last name. I’ve only seen him a few times, remember? And that’s who the cookies are for, so stay here. I’m gonna go give them to him.”

“Ha! And miss out on the man candy? No way.” She follows you out the door.

It’s early enough that you’re pretty sure he’s home, since he seems to work mid-to-late shifts at wherever his profession is, so you fluff your hair a bit and knock with Mel hovering around your shoulder. 

Steve appears in the doorway, still as ridiculously handsome and yet comfortable in a sleeveless white t-shirt and Levis. “Neighbor.”

“Neighbor,” you reply, an easy smile on your lips for once. “I believe I owe you my cookie-- _some_  cookies,” you correct, flushing pink yet again. “Peanut-butter-chocolate chip. Homemade.”

Steve accepts the basket and takes a whiff, groaning slightly. “Thank you. They smell incredible.”

“It’s the least you’d let me do.” You suddenly realize you haven’t even mentioned your friend yet and gesture a hand to her. “Uh, this is my friend Mel. She just wanted to say hi.”

You glance at her, and then blanch as you notice that her jaw is to the floor and she’s been gawking at him ever since the door opened. You elbow her in the ribs and she sticks out her hand, stammering, “H-Hi there.”

Steve smiles and shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“We’d better get going,” you say, shoving her away while you still have some dignity. “Later, Steve.”

He winks again and your stomach does a double somersault and smashes into your lungs, leaving you breathless. “Later, neighbor.”

As soon as he closes the door, you whirl on Mel and smack her in the arm. “What the hell was that all about?”

She points a shaking hand at the door. “D-Do you... _know_ who that is?!”

You stare. “Steve the Hot Neighbor Guy?”

She shakes her head slowly. “No. That’s Captain America. As in Captain _fucking_ America who saved the world from an alien invasion.”

The blood drains out of your face. “What.”

Mel whips out her phone and hammers a few things in, and then you see it: the headline with a man in a red-white-and-blue suit and a helmet. Sure, you knew of Captain America, but you’d never seen him up close. It was always far away shots during the Battle of New York with shaky cameras. 

“Holy. Shit.”

Mel nods accordingly. “Dude...Captain America babysat your dog.”

You bury your face in your hands. “What is even my life?”

“Well, we both know what needs to be done.”

You peek through your fingers at her. “What?”

“I’m going to an animal shelter  _right this fucking second_.”

FIN

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mel is a meddling dead woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throw me on a garbage fire. I made another chapter because I just saw Captain America: Civil War and remembered what a mad crush I have on Steve Rogers, so...yeah, have another chapter of self indulgent schmoop.

“You gotta do it.”

“No.”

“Come on.”

“No!”

“Oh, don’t be such a damn wimp!”

You slam the cupboard shut and whirl on your best friend Mel, pointing a wooden spoon at her, your eyes narrowed to slits.

“I am NOT asking out Captain goddamn fucking America!”

Mel rolls her brown eyes and crosses her arms. “You are such a drama queen. He’d say yes. You know he would.”

“He’s a superhero. He’s saved the world multiple times. What on earth makes you think he’d go out with me?” You say, making sure every syllable has the utmost exasperation in it. It seems to bounce right off her, but then again, everything does.

“He already likes you. I saw that smile and that wink when you dropped off the cookies. He’s into you.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say, turning back to the spaghetti sauce on the stove. “The guy is busy saving the world. He’s not going to go on a date with some nobody who lives down the hall.”

“But—”

“I’m not doing it. End of discussion.”

A couple days later, It happens. You’re at the hallway mailbox fishing out bills and coupons and you hear that bright, playful intonation wrapped in a velvet male voice. “Neighbor.”

You jump and glance aside to see Steve standing there, keys jingling in his large hands, that half-smile firmly over his lips. “Oh! H-Hey, Steve! How, uh, how are you?”

“Fine. You?”

“Good! Busy. It’s nuts as usual,” you say, needlessly tucking hair behind your ear and hoping he can’t see that his mere appearance has turned you about three different shades of red.

He pulls his own mail out and shakes his head slightly. “So I take it you found out about my, ahem, day job.”

You blink rapidly. “How’d you--?”

“You’re stammering. You don’t usually do that.”

You blush harder. So he did notice. Damn. “S-Sorry, it’s just…never met a superhero before. Or let one dog-sit for me. If I’d have known who you were, I never would have asked you to do that.”

He faces you, still smiling faintly, but it’s not mocking. He leans against the wall and it makes his biceps stretch against the t-shirt and your mouth threatens to salivate. “You didn’t ask. I offered. And I’m no hero. Just a guy who doesn’t like bullies. I don’t want you to feel like you have to treat me any differently. We’re still just neighbors. Think you can handle that?”

The smile widens to show he’s kidding, that he’s poking fun, but not in a malicious way. Your heart stutters and bumps clumsily into your ribs a few times, making it hard to answer. “Yeah. I think I can.”

“Good. Then I’ll see you around sometime, neighbor.” With another trademark wink, he heads back down the hallway towards his apartment. You fan yourself for a full thirty seconds before you realize what you’re doing.

The next evening, someone knocks at the door at eight o’clock sharp. Confused, you stuff the last Cheeto in your mouth, close your law book, and scurry on over.

Steve’s standing there in a crisp white button-up shirt, charcoal slacks, and loafers under a gorgeous suede jacket. You stare open-mouthed for half a second before going, “Hi. What’s up?”

Steve’s eyebrow goes up. “Am I early?”

You stare at him. “Early for what?”

“You said you wanted to grab dinner, right?”

You’re pretty sure you just had a heart attack. Yep. Your heart is splattered all over the inside of your rib cage and your soul is riding the first thing smokin’ to the afterlife. “I did what?”

Frowning, Steve reaches into his coat pocket and hands you a letter. Hands shaking, you open it and there is a note explicitly inviting him to dinner at your favorite Italian restaurant tonight at eight o’clock.

In Mel’s handwriting.

You crumple the note and squeeze your eyes shut. “Oh. My. God. I’m going to _kill_ her.”

“Her?”

You look back at him. “My… _insane_ and very _ex_ -best friend wrote this note, not me. I am so incredibly sorry, Steve. She’s kind of a meddler. She meddles. A lot.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. Things happen.”

You bite your lower lip as you realize he actually looks… _disappointed._ He starts to back off down the hallway and you clench your hands, close your eyes, and call out to him. “Wait!”

Steve stops. Turns. You lick your lips and decide to take the plunge. “W-Well, I mean, she already made the reservation and everything. If you don’t mind waiting for like five minutes, I can get dressed. I mean, if you want to.”

Steve gives you that slow, spine-melting smile, the one that you swear should be censored by the FCC for being too goddamn lethally gorgeous. “Well, no sense in letting a reservation go to waste.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” You slam the door and race into your bedroom like a psychopath and proceed to tear your entire closet to shreds finding the right outfit. Thank God you’ve already showered and shaved for the night. You slap on some makeup, run a comb through your hair, dust off the old Victoria Secret’s set, and doll yourself up as much as humanly possible in five minutes.

“This is insane,” you moan to yourself, fluffing your hair around your shoulders. “Totally fucking insane. I’m gonna kill Mel. She’ll be torn apart by horses and then set on fire. This is such a bad idea.”

Then you head out of your apartment for a date with Captain fucking America.

-

Thankfully, the Italian place you love is tiny and only seats about thirty people, so Steve won’t become some sort of spectacle. The waiter gives you a seat near the back in a quiet, secluded corner and the dim lighting will help keep people off his scent, so to speak. The only downside is the candlelight highlights the perfect squareness of his jaw, the true blue hue of his eyes, and that Colgate-Crest-worthy smile. You’re so nervous you twist the napkin into shreds in your lap and pray you don’t say something stupid, but Steve’s got you covered. After you order, he gently asks you about how the BAR exam went and what practice you’d like to go into after you pass and the remaining nervousness melts away bit by bit as you open up about yourself.

You go through a glass of wine and finally feel comfortable enough to ask him a little about himself, and you find that there’s one hell of an engrossing story to the man. You’re so into it that you eat the whole meal without even noticing because you’re wrapped up in the tale of how Steve came to become Captain America, and the details that lead to the Battle of New York. He can’t tell you everything, of course, being a soldier who works with the government, but it’s all so massive and overwhelmingly interesting that you don’t care about the details.

Before you know it, dinner has been devoured and you’re splitting a crème brulee and two lemon cello shots recommended by the waiter. You cheerfully fight over the last piece before he steals it and then scoops it up, offering it to you and his smile warms you down to your toes when you eat the last bite off of his fork.

You’re about to hop back on his motorcycle for the ride home when Steve remembers he left his wallet on the table and asks you to wait a moment while he grabs it. You sit sideways on the seat, replaying the evening and wondering when it’ll ever sink in that you’ve just gone on a date with a superhero and now have to kill your best friend.

But unfortunately, that’s when the guy with the knife shows up.

A huge hand envelops your neck and squeezes so hard it drives your breath out in one go. You’re suddenly crushed against a foreign male upper body and the faint lamplight glints off the switchblade in his other hand, pointed at your jugular.

“Nice bike,” the stranger growls in your ear. “Got the keys, sweetheart?”

You can’t speak, but you shake your head. “Shame. Then you’ll have to give me what you got instead. Purse. Now. Scream and I’ll slit your throat.”

Fingers trembling, you slide it across your lap over to him and he plucks it up with the knife’s edge. “Boyfriend was damn stupid to take someone fine as you over to this side of town. Maybe I’ll wait around to teach him a lesson—“

He stops talking so abruptly that you realize he’s no longer looking at you. Steve is standing there, about two cars over, his mouth in a thin line, his blue eyes shining like hellish fire in the night.

“No fucking way,” the thief mutters. “No way. Can’t be.”

“It can,” Steve breathes. “Drop the knife and back away. I’m only gonna tell you that once.”

The thief drops the purse and keeps the knife level with your neck. “So you can kick my ass from here to the mainland when I do? Sorry, Cap. Knife’s staying where it is. How ‘bout you go back in that restaurant and I don’t slice her six ways from Sunday?”

Steve’s eyes narrow. “Last chance.”

“Go to hell, you star-spangled—AAGH!” You throw your head back as hard as you can and the top of your skull cracks into the thief’s nose. As soon as his grip slackens, you tear away from him and out of Steve’s way. He doesn’t hesitate. He lunges in a perfect ten foot arc and drives his knee straight into the criminal’s sternum. The guy hits the pavement like a loaded sack of cabbages and rolls onto his side, choking on a pained breath. Steve kicks the knife away and lays him out with a quick punch to the temple, and then it’s over.

All at once, Steve’s there and you can’t stop shaking and his arm goes around your back and you hide your face in his warm neck for a bit, trying to calm down.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’ve got you.”

After a moment or two, you calm down and he slides his fingers up your nape to the top of your head, feeling for a bruise. Your eyes almost close. It feels nice. “You okay?”

You nod. “I’m hardheaded. Always have been.”

“We’ve got that in common.”

You gesture towards the floored criminal. “Should we call the cops?”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Steve says, smiling fiercely as he grabs his cell phone. “Couple people I know would love to take a crack at him.”

He makes an extremely brief coded phone call and then rubs your back gently, nodding towards the bike. “He won’t be bothering anyone again anytime soon. Let me take you home.”

-

By the time you roll back up to the apartment complex, you’ve reminded yourself that you’re safe and everything will be okay and that your survival instincts are pretty good for a civvie.

“So the adrenaline rush is totally normal?” you ask as you’re walking towards your front door, fooling around with your keys.

Steve laughs gently, and it makes you shiver in places. “Yeah. Totally normal. But promise me you’ll make sure that bump gets looked at.”

“I’m fine,” you assure him, running your hand along his arm. “I promise. No concussion. My motor skills are exactly the same as they were before, watch.”

You unlock the door and then spread your arms, turning to face him. “Ta-da!”

He’s still smiling and shaking his head and he’s closer than you realize, and he smells amazing, and you’ve been really good this whole date at not staring, but goddamn, he’s beautiful and fuck it, you only get one life to live so you just ball the keys up in one hand, throw your arms around his neck, and kiss his fucking daylights out.

He’s surprised. But then his arms slowly wrap around your waist and he tugs you up to meet him and your mouths slide together naturally and your lips melt into his and he tastes so much better than you imagined. Electric shocks dance and dart up and down your body as his fingers glide across your spine. He’s rubbing the small of your back and it feels fucking incredible and you’re pretty sure you’re going to turn into a puddle of goo long before he stops kissing you. What’s worse is the first kiss melds seamlessly into a second one and a third one and then his tongue teases the inside of your mouth and you can’t help but moan and then suddenly your back is pressed to the doorjamb and his solid, hot chest is leaning into you in just the right way and you don’t want him to ever stop kissing you and running his hands over your hips, your waist, your sides.

Regretfully, the kissing ends. You’re panting. He’s panting. You both open your eyes at the same time and you swear that you’re both thinking, “Well, _damn_.”

“So,” you mutter, risking a glance up into those baby blues. “Where do we go from here?”

“Well,” he says, running his thumb across your cheekbone. “I say good night and I’ll come by tomorrow to see how you’re doing and then we set up our first date that’s not under false pretenses. Sound good?”

You smile so hard you’re worried it’s ripping muscles in your cheeks. “Sounds good.”

He leans in one last time, and the kiss is pure fire. It’s a wonder you haven’t burst into a pile of ashes by now. He ends with another devastating smile and his trademark wink.

“See you tomorrow, neighbor.”

Mel is a dead woman.

And also a genius.

You’re just sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hugged Chris Evans at New Orleans Comic Con in our photo op together this past January, and so that thing at the end with the kiss is slightly based on a true story because I wore the quintessential Little Black Dress and did my hair and makeup and wore heels and I think I looked pretty good because before he let go of me, he rubbed the small of my back and I wish I could properly explain how goddamn fucking sexy it was. I basically turned into a human goo pile after he did that and couldn't even stammer out a sentence when he let me go. 
> 
> Chris Evans' hugs and back rub combos are the number one threat to America, man.
> 
> Part 3 is probably coming. And that won't be the only thing. ZING.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Round Two. FIGHT!
> 
> Or kiss. Do what you like, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaaaaaaaack.
> 
> Who wants more fluff? You do? Alright, then have some more silly schmoop that I thought of because I need more adorable date Steve Rogers in my life. 
> 
> FYI, the more comfortable the two of you get, the less nervous she is, so I hope this doesn't seem OOC at all. After all, getting to damn near second base with him should loosen her up at least a little.

You’ve never had to smother anyone with a pillow before, but you’re pretty sure it goes a lot like this.

“Oh, come on,” Mel whines from beneath the throw pillow you have shoved over her head. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“What were you thinking?” you screech, relenting just enough to whack her with the pillow over and over again. “Do you have any idea how much of an idiot you made me look like in front of him?”

Mel shields her face from the blows. “You were being ridiculous! It’s not every day that a superhero takes a liking to you. I had to do something.”

“Ugh!” You give her one final smack in the back and then collapse on the other end of the couch. The dress you’re still wearing from the date settles around your legs and you tuck the pillow against your stomach, glaring at your best friend. “You’re ridiculous. And I’m gonna kill you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mel says, smoothing her curly hair back down as she sits up. “Now tell me how it went.”

You blush. “That’s not why I came over, y’know.”

Mel grins. “Uh-huh.”

“Shut up.” You tell her. You try not to gush, but it’s pretty damned hard because as embarrassing as it was that your best friend tricked Captain America into going on a date with you, you’re still reeling from how well it actually went. You keep expecting to wake up from a dream, but you’ve pinched yourself enough times that your forearm is bright red, so that can’t be the case. Mel actually listens patiently and doesn’t interject inappropriate comments, and you’re a little flushed by the time you’re done with recounting the first date.

“I knew it,” she says, sighing wistfully. “He’s just how I pictured. A gentleman and a sweetie. I’m so glad you grew a pair and just went with it. I told you he likes you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Because you’re always right.”

“I am. It’s a curse being this perfect. So when’s your next date?”

You fiddle with the edge of your dress, nibbling your bottom lip. “He says he’ll stop by tomorrow and set it up. That’s…sort of why I came over, other than to murder you. Before you die, what do you think we should do on our next date?”

Mel stares at you and then slowly waggles her eyebrows up and down. You throw the pillow at her. After she’s done laughing, she elaborates. “Well, you already went to dinner. Do you want to play it safe or keep it fresh?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I think he’d be fine with either.”

“Alright, then I’ll let you choose. Which are you more up for: safe or adventurous?”

Your mind trails back to the kiss, one of the only moments in your entire life where you just went for something despite how crazy it sounded, and the memory warms you down to your toes. “Adventurous.”

“Then I’ve got just the thing.”

-

You’re hypersensitive to every single sound in and around your apartment for pretty much the entire day, jumping up when you think you hear something in anticipation of Steve’s arrival. It’s nervewracking, and your dog picks up on it immediately, choosing to sit next to you to keep you calm. 

Finally, at a bit after five o’clock in the afternoon, the doorbell rings. You scurry to the nearest mirrored surface to make sure you’re presentable, and then open the door.

Once more, you feel like the wolf in those old Tex Avery cartoons as soon as you see him—your heart pounding out of your chest in a silhouette—because he’s still exactly the same as always: handsome, charming, endearing, and softly sincere. Like always, he isn’t dressed to the nines, but rather in something comfortably classic: brown leather jacket, dark wash jeans, boots, plain white v-neck t-shirt. 

“Neighbor,” Steve says with an easy smile.

“Neighbor,” you reply, smiling back. “How are you?”

“Good.”

“Busy day?”

“They always are in my line of work. Yours?”

You shrug. “Just trying to keep the lights on. Mostly studying.”

Balto races to the door, his feet clicking across the hardwood floors, and yips with excitement at the arrival of his second favorite person in the world. Steve grins and kneels, playing with your dog and laughing at the doggy smooches he receives. You shoo the dog away after a bit, telling him to behave, and gesture your hand at the den. “Oh, do you want to come in?”

“As long as I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all.” He steps inside and you silently cheer that you’ve invited him in without doing anything weird. Social Skills Level 10. Score.

You shut the door and when you turn around, he surprises you with a short, sweet little kiss. Your cheeks flush red and you fight the urge to fan them. “How’s your head?”

“Oh,” you absently pat the spot on your skull where you’d bashed a criminal’s nose last night. “It’s fine. I made sure to get it looked at so you wouldn’t be worried.”

He sighs in relief. “Good. I’m sorry about—”

You dismiss the apology with a wave of your hand. “Not your fault. You can’t control the world. Sometimes ugly things happen. I’m just glad it turned out alright in the end.”

“Me too.” He glances around at the den and the kitchen to his left. “Nice place.”

“Thanks.”

“How long have you lived here?”

You glide into the kitchen and start preparing two tall glasses of water. “Three years. I love this neighborhood. I grew up around the corner. Ice?”

“Please,” he says, leaning against the island counter to watch.

“How did you end up finding this place?” You ask, handing him the glass.

“My boss likes this area and it’s not far from where I grew up. Seems like he made the right call.” He sends you a secretive smile before taking a sip. 

“Did you think of somewhere we should go?”

“Actually, I did,” you say. “A couple places, but I’ll let you decide. Should we play it safe or should we color outside the lines?”

He raises his glass. “To coloring outside the lines.”

You grin and clink your glass with his. “So be it.”

-

“Are you sure about this?”

“Positive.”

“Alright. But I’m not going to hold back on you.”

“Neither am I, Captain.”

You snap the night-vision goggles down over your face and check the magazine on your fully loaded, hilariously oversized fake laser gun and stare down your opponent. He does the same. The overhead light is actually a real stoplight that had been changed to count numbers instead of just colors. Red: 3. Yellow: 2. Green: 1. Time to go.

You sprint to your left as soon as the Go sign lights up and dart around the corner of the black-light-lit indoor paintball arena. It’s two-levels high with hidden tunnels, moving walls, mirrors, slides, and even a maze at the center. You and your friends have played here at least once a month, sometimes more when you’re stressed out and need a break from studying, and it’s the perfect non-traditional second date. After all, who wouldn’t want Captain America chasing after them?

The 90’s grunge rock pounds your eardrums to death, making it impossible to hear if he’s coming after you or not, but you know this place like the back of your hand and plan to use it to your advantage. You dart up the short staircase and find a vantage point—a corner that keeps most of the main center area in view. You crouch down and check your corners, waiting to see if he followed you. Nothing yet.

You slink along the wall until you can see the stairs, and sure enough, he’s sneaking up after you. You jump to your feet and fire wildly, catching him in the back.

“Ha!” You exclaim as his suit turns bright red for a few seconds and emits noise. “Is that the best you’ve got, Cap?”

He grins. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

His suit turns back to its original blue color and you race through the nearest corridor towards the maze. You turn several corners and find a nice, tight spot to make a stand. You press your back to the wall and keep the laser gun pointed at the only open end, waiting patiently. 

You see something out of the corner of your eye, and glance up. By then, it’s too late. Steve has somehow jumped up on top of the eight foot wall and fires down at you. Your LED vest splashes your body with red light and you groan.

“Oh, no fair!”

Steve winks. “All’s fair in love and war.”

He leaps down from the wall and out of sight. You grind your teeth, intent on making him pay, and run off in the direction he disappeared. 

The maze is a gift and a curse. It makes it harder for him to escape, but it also leaves a lot of open areas to get shot in the back. You sweep through them methodically and just as you reach the last corridor, you catch him. Both of you fire at the same time. Both your vests glow red. A draw.

“Seems you’ve met your match,” you tease, your finger on the trigger, waiting for his suit to switch back to blue.

“Maybe,” Steve replies, cool as a cucumber in December. 

He fires and you duck, narrowly avoiding a hit, but as soon as you fire, he zips around the corner back inside the maze. Growling, you tear off after him, but he’s nowhere to be found. You hunt for him everywhere you can think of, even checking above you, but he might as well have blended into the darkness itself. You suppose this is what you get for challenging a super soldier to a game based on stealth and agility. 

Just as you whip around yet another corner, two muscular arms scoop you up off the ground. You yelp and wriggle, giggling as his fingers dig into your sides playfully. 

“Surrender,” he orders in an overly dramatic voice. 

“Not an option,” you declare. “I’ll take you down with me, Rogers.”

“Brave, but foolish.” You twist free and find yourself face to face with him, both your guns aimed at each other from inches away, panting and smiling at each other like idiots. 

He tilts his head slightly. “Truce?”

“Why? Scared you can’t beat me?”

“I just wanted to give you a fair chance.”

“What makes you think I need one?”

He shrugs. “Your funeral.”

You spin to the left as he fires and nail him right in the chest. He clutches the spot and stumbles back, propped up against the wall. You cover your mouth and try to stifle the giggles as he pretends to be mortally wounded.

“Betrayed by my only love,” he gasps, sliding down the wall. “The darkness is closing in. I’m so cold.”

“You are such a ham,” you say between hiccupping belts of laughter. 

“Come closer, my darling. I want to say goodbye.”

Shaking your head, you kneel in front of him. He smiles and sneaks in another kiss, and this one is slower, warmer, with the slightest bit of tongue. You promptly forget about the laser tag match for a few seconds.

Until your vest vibrates and lights up red.

You open your eyes just enough to glare. “Low blow.”

Steve chuckles. “Play to win, right?”

He kisses you again. You find it’s not that hard to forgive him after all.

-

“I want a rematch,” you announce, pointing a finger at him as you both walk towards your apartment. “Since someone is a dirty, rotten cheater.”

“I was being tactical,” Steve insists. “You shouldn’t have let your guard down.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, unlocking the door. “Well, maybe I just let you win because it was your first time.”

“How kind of you. How can I ever repay your gener—”

You whirl on your heel and plant the mother of all surprise kisses on his lips. It might just be the best one yet. Your arms loop around his neck, you lift up on your tiptoes, your tongue glides over that devastatingly soft lower lip of his, and you nibble the upper one just enough to hear him groan ever so slightly, and it shoots off fireworks inside you. Hot damn. You’ve never felt anything like it before.

“—osity,” Steve mumbles a moment later, sounding a bit weak in the knees. It’s unbelievably adorable and sexy at the same time.

You lean back enough to smirk up at him. “You shouldn’t let your guard down.”

He smirks. “Next time I won’t.”

His arms slip around your waist and he draws you back into him for another kiss. You melt like ice on a hot summer sidewalk. Simmering pleasure fills your body and it’s probably a good thing your lips are occupied because you’re half a second away from inviting him in to stay for the night. You’ve heard worse ideas, after all. 

After several heavenly seconds, he pulls away and clears his throat. “So I had a good time tonight.”

“Mm-hmm,” you mutter, not coherent enough for actual words yet. 

“What does your schedule look like on Saturday?”

“I’m all yours.” You pause, blink at yourself, and promptly turn bright red. “I-I mean, I don’t think I have anything that night if you want to do something.”

He smiles fondly at your embarrassment. “I’ll stop by that afternoon if you’re around. Sound good?”

“Sounds good.”

He rewards you with another toe-curling kiss and whispers, “Neighbor.”

“Neighbor,” you sigh back, and then he gives you a little squeeze before saying goodbye. You shut the door and lean up against it, wondering if you’ll ever come down from Cloud Nine. Probably soon, but until then…the sky looks awful nice from up there.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Cap hit the dreaded yet anticipated third date. Is there a manual somewhere about how to seduce a superhero?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaaack.
> 
> Yeah, I watched The Winter Soldier last night and my unending crush on Steve Rogers/Chris Evans inspired me to write another chapter of this shameless schmoop. Might as well spread the wealth, so to speak.

“The average American has sex on their third date.”

Mel lifts both eyebrows as she stares at you. “And? What’s your point?”

You wring your hands. “I…he…the next time we go out is date number three.”

“Yeah, and you’re going to bang him like a screen door in a tornado, so what’s your point?”

You collapse on your couch, facedown, and groan. “Not. Helping. Mel.”

“Wait, seriously? This is why you called me over for counsel? To convince you not to have sex with Captain fucking America, no pun intended?”

You finally sigh and heave yourself into a sitting position. “Not exactly, I just…look, I don’t know what his sensibilities are. How do I even figure it out?”

“This may sound like a foreign, out there idea, but you could always talk to him.”

“It’s not that easy,” you groan. “Some girls can do that. Some girls can just casually ease it into conversation or plan to seduce a guy in just the right way, but that’s not me. I have no idea what I’m doing in general, and even less so with men that I like.”

Mel catches your hand and stares into your eyes intently. “I want you to listen to me, okay?”

You stare right back. She pats your hand. “Grow a pair of ovaries, woman. This is modern day America. A woman can certainly be an adult and ask upfront what kind of relationship she wants to have with a guy.”

“I know that, but this is me we’re talking about. I can’t even order a sandwich without my voice cracking.”

“Alright, fine, forget about you. Focus on him. You’ve been out with him enough times to get a feel for the guy. What do you think would happen if after date three, you invite him back to your place?”

You pause and wrinkle your nose as you consider what you’ve learned about Steve so far. “I mean, he’s very sweet and polite. I think maybe he’d want me to get some rest if we were out late…but I also think maybe he’d come in for a drink if I asked.”

“There. Hold that picture in your mind. The two of you walk over to the couch and sit. You talk, you laugh, you drink your wine, maybe with a little Barry White in the background. Let’s say for argument’s sake that he pulls the old Yawn-and-Reach trick and then you’re kissing and bada-boom, touchdown.”

Your face erupts into a blush as your mind quite clearly pictures said touchdown. “Remember what I said about the whole ‘not helping’ thing?”

Mel grins. “Oh, stop. I tell you this all the time and I’m never going to stop: you think too much. Whatever happens, happens. Don’t try to force it. Let it be, okay?”

You perch your chin on your knees and hug your legs a bit, taking a deep breath and repeating her words in your head. “Right. I promise not to overthink it. Thanks, Mel.”

“You’re hopeless, woman,” she says, stooping to kiss your forehead before scooping up her purse and heading for the door. “You owe me lunch. Bye.”

“Bye.”

-

“I’m overthinking the shit out of this.”

You stand in front of the mirror, naked as a jaybird, with two bras in your hand. You’ve actually saved up enough money to buy the good stuff—Victoria’s Secret—but now you’re trapped. Go simple or go seductive? The regular black bra-and-panty set are comfortable and classic, but what if you do get to third-and-or-fourth-base? Shouldn’t you be wearing something elegant and stunning? The other bra is the color of wine, and while you’re not entirely confident with how you look, you know it looks wonderful against your skin tone. It’s covered with lace, but it’s also a tad bit itchy.

“Stop it,” you mutter to yourself. “Let it be.”

You toss both bras on the bed and instead focus on your outfit. Then again, it makes you frown. Should you look more casual this time? Or more classy?

You drag both hands down your face. “I swear, I’m going to just call the date off at this rate.”

As if on cue, your phone chimes. You pick it up to see a text from Steve. He’s on his way home from work and he’ll be to you in less than an hour. No sweat. You’ve got this. You can totally make a decision by then. No pressure.

You shriek as the phone then vibrates and screams, “AMERICAAAA! FUCK YEAH!” (Mel thought it was hilarious to change his ringtone to that song from Team America). You set the phone on the dresser and answer it from your vanity, pretending to sound completely casual. “Hey.”

“Hey, Neighbor,” Steve says. His voice is as smooth and appealing as peanut butter even over the phone. “Sorry, I’m not used to text messaging and touch screens just yet.”

“You aren’t the only one,” you chuckle, touching up your eye-liner. “What’s up?”

“I just got stuck in traffic, so I might be a little late. That’s why I called.” He paused. “I may or may not also just want to hear your voice while I’m bored and gridlocked out here.”

You blush. “Oh. Well, that’s okay, I’m in no rush. Any chance you’re going to tell me where we’re going so I know what to wear?”

“Nope,” he says cheerfully. “You surprised me last time. Now it’s my turn.”

“Fair enough,” you say, capping the eye-liner and heading towards the closet. “But don’t be shocked if I end up in something inappropriate.”

“Uh.”

“Well, I mean, not that inappropriate,” you say, picking out a third dress and comparing the color against your skin.

“ _Ahem._ ”

“It’s not like I’m going to show up in tight black leather or anything.”

“AHEM.”

You frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Your camera’s on.”

You freeze in place. Then you slowly crane your neck and find yourself staring at Steve’s unbelievably pink face.

You’d accidentally answered the call on Facetime.

Butt. Naked.

“Oh. My. _God_.”

You dart over to the phone and switch it to a regular voice call. “Steve, I am _so sorry_. I swear on my life, I didn’t mean to do that to you. T-This is a new phone and I haven’t gotten used to it yet and freaking iPhones have this stupid button next to the Call button and—”

“Hey, hey, would you relax? You’re gonna go into shock at this rate. I didn’t see you the whole time. I only just realized it. I promise, I didn’t see anything.”

He hesitated. “Well, I didn’t see all that much.”

You bury your face in one hand. “I’m gonna go jump off the balcony, excuse me.”

Steve laughs. “Please don’t on my account. It was an accident. It happens. Do you want me to tell you some horribly embarrassing dates I’ve been on to make you feel better?”

You flop down onto your bed. “Actually, yes. That will at least take my mind off of it.”

God bless him, he really did have terrible luck with women before his transformation, and before you know it, almost forty-minutes have passed. You’re fully dressed and put together by the time he knocks on your door and Balto comes flying across the couch to greet him, his bushy tail wagging madly.

You open the door and nearly melt into a puddle. Steve is wearing a black t-shirt and light wash jeans and boots under a black motorcycle jacket. The dark colors make those frosty eyes look even bluer, his golden hair even shinier, and that smile even more handsome. He’s trying to kill you. You’re sure of it.

He lifts his eyebrows, giving you a teasing look. “You didn’t jump off the balcony after all.”

“Trust me, I gave it serious consideration,” you say helplessly. “I really am sorry. I wasn’t trying to—”

He catches you around the waist and silences you with a soft, slow kiss. The words die in your throat. Your brain takes a vacation and the only thought in your head is, _Mm, this man tastes way too good to be healthy._

Steve draws back and smiles. “Forget it ever happened.”

“Okay,” you mumble vacantly, trying to jumpstart your brain into working again. “Let me, uh, get my…thing that holds my stuff.”

Steve bites his lip, trying to hide a smile. “Your purse?”

“Yeah, that,” you say, stumbling towards the counter with weak knees. You tell yourself to build up some kind of immunity to his touch or you’ll never make it past first base with him. Steve gives your dog Balto a quick petting and then the two of you are off on Date Three.

God help you.

-

It turns out Steve isn’t half-bad at surprise dates. You’re genuinely delighted when you turn into the parking lot of a bowling alley. It’s been forever since you’ve had time to go to one.

Steve parks his motorcycle and offers you a cautious smile over his shoulder. “So what do you think?”

“It’s perfect,” you grin. “My parents used to take me all the time when I was younger.”

“Good, then you can teach me,” Steve says with a chuckle as he dismounts the motorcycle. “This’ll be my first time, but I heard it’s a lot of fun.”

You blink at him. “Really?”

“Well, considering my past, it was too difficult to learn to bowl. I tried once and gave myself an asthma attack,” he says sheepishly.

“Don’t worry. I won’t be too hard on you.”

“So you say,” he teases, hands in his pockets as you walk up to the door. “I remember someone being pretty competitive on our last date.”

You purse your lips. “I recall nothing of the sort.”

He opens the door for you. “Why am I not surprised?”

You’re so excited to play that you don’t even care that the goofy bowling shoes clash with your pretty sundress and lace up before choosing a bowling ball. It’s Cosmo Bowling night, so you choose a funky electric green bowling ball and show Steve how to set up the board for the game.

“Alright, Rogers,” you say. “Why don’t I show you the basics before I beat the pants off of you?”

He spreads his hands. “Please do.”

“The key to bowling isn’t always about power. It’s about direction and focus. It doesn’t matter if you can launch the ball at 100 miles per hour if you throw it straight into the gutter. Most of the time, if you can hit it right up the center, all the pins go down and it makes it a lot easier to win. Some people like to get real fancy, but that’s what I’ve found works best for me.”

You step up to the line. “What you want is for your wrist to be facing where you want the ball to go down the lane. It should be straight to help guide the ball and prevent it from spinning to either side. You only need spin-action if you don’t get a strike and instead get a spare or a split.”

Steve nods and you launch your first roll of the night. It’s clean and perfect right down the center—a strike, which is what you wanted. Steve is pretty great at just about everything, so it’s nice that there is something you can excel at in front of him.

“Nice shot,” he says.

“Thank you. Now up and at ‘em, Cap.”

He retrieves his white bowling ball. You touch his shoulders—resisting the urge to faint because, goddamn, he is pure built muscle and his shoulder-to-waist ratio is just unbelievable—and lead him to where he should be standing. You check the weight of the ball and confirm that it’s about as right as it’s going to be for a guy who can lift a freaking car before handing it back to him.

“Okay,” you say from behind him, pointing towards the end of the lane. “Don’t think about throwing the ball. You want it to release when your hand passes over the line. Let it kind of just slide off, don’t force it. Keep your elbow straight and facing forward the whole time.”

You pat his thigh briefly. “Plus, when you’re coming up to the line, don’t bounce it off your leg. It’ll throw your shot way off. That’s why you see some guys strike these crazy poses out there. They’re making sure their footwork is secure so they don’t blow the shot.”

“Right,” he says, and his velvet voice echoes up through you a little because you’re standing so close. You almost lose focus for a second, but shake it off and grip his wrist.

“Let go on three,” you instruct, ignoring how your front is pressed to his shoulder blades and spine and how delicious his cologne smells. “One…two…three!”

He launches the ball. It soars through the air for a foot or two, smacks the lane, and rolls a little to the left, knocking down half the pins. Phew. You’d been worried he’d accidentally chuck it through the wall.

“Not bad,” you commend him, stepping away. “You might be able to pick up the spare.”

His bowling ball pops out a moment later and you scoot him over a bit towards the remaining pins on the lane. “Spares are tricky. After you’ve been bowling for a while, you can learn how to curve the ball, but for now, we’ll just line it up and see if we can get it.”

You point towards the pin at the center of the bunch. “Try for that pin. If you hit it hard enough, it’ll hit the rest.”

You guide his arm again, and this time he lets it roll off his fingers, just like you’d instructed. The ball spins a tad and hits all but one of the pins.

“This is definitely harder than it looks,” Steve admits, and you pat his shoulder.

“Takes practice. We’ll get plenty tonight, don’t worry.”

The two of you finish the board and Steve quickly starts to pick up on what works for him. The funny thing is you figured you’d be nervous with him watching intently as you bowl, but you aren’t. Maybe it’s because you’re good at it, but you feel completely comfortable around him. The light teasing between you is almost effortless now, a stark contrast to how you met and those coincidental meetings at the laundry room or at the mailbox. You realize it’s good old fashioned chemistry. You haven’t felt that in a while. It’s always been a struggle for you to fit in or to go out with guys, but not with Steve. The very thought makes your stomach flutter.

After your first set, Steve buys you both a huge carton of cheese fries and you protest that you’ll get fat, but he just rolls his eyes and explains that the bowling will burn off calories. You’re secretly delighted that he’s not horrified by junk food, because you really do adore cheese fries, especially with extra jalapeños. Plus, he eats most of them and you can’t help but wonder where he’s putting it all.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” you say, politely swallowing the fry first. “What on earth do you eat to stay as fit as you are?”

Steve actually blushes a bit. It’s so cute it should be illegal. “The serum basically kicked my metabolic rate up so high that I can pretty much eat anything and it won’t affect me.”

You scowl at him. “I know women who would kill for that ability.”

“Hopefully you’re not one of them,” he says. “You look great.”

You stick out one foot. “Even with my clown shoes?”

“Even with the clown shoes,” he confirms.

You blush a little as well. “Thanks.”

You both glance down to find that there’s only one cheese fry left and burst into identical challenging smiles as you reach for it. You snatch it up first.

“Ha!” You eat the last fry, preparing a taunt, but then Steve catches your hand and sucks the cheese off your thumb, his blue eyes sparkling mischievously. You’re quite glad you’re sitting at the moment, because that certainly would have made you fall down.

He winks without saying anything as he stands up to bowl. You sit there blushing terribly hard and sip some Coke to cool off.

Yep. He’s definitely trying to kill you.

-

You seriously haven’t been this nervous since prom night.

It’s the end of the third date and you’re both walking down the hallway towards your door and you have no idea what to do. You want to invite him in, but what if he says no? Hell, what if he says yes? Will he make the first move? Will you? Your head is full of monkey chatter thoughts and arguments for and against both choices. What the hell are you going to do?

You close your fingers around your keys so he can’t see them shaking and swallow past the lump in your throat. You can totally do this. You can totally ask Captain America if he wants to have a nightcap.

“I had a great time,” you tell him, hoping he can’t hear the slight squeak in your voice as you unlock the door. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It’s been nice to get out and do normal things for a change.”

You resist the urge to gulp as you turn around and pray your face isn’t as red as it feels. “Would you, uh, like to come in?”

He meets your gaze steadily for a paralyzing few seconds. Your heart thunders loud in your ears. Your pulse is weak and fleeting.

“Do you want me to come in or are you asking because that’s what most guys expect on a third date?” he asks rather quietly.

Your eyes widen. He really is devastatingly perceptive. “What makes you think that?”

“You’re always shy, but this is the first time I’ve seen you this nervous,” he says, softening the blow with a little sympathetic smile. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I’m fine coming in or if you want to take things slow. It’s up to you, not me.”

For a moment, you can’t even say anything. That’s possibly the first time a guy has ever prioritized your needs over his own.

“W-Well,” you mumble, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear and staring at his collarbone. “The truth is I wasn’t sure what your sensibilities were. If you were the kind of guy who wants to be married before he makes the next step or if you wanted to keep things casual. Truthfully, I like you more than I’ve liked anyone in years, and I just don’t want to blow it. Done that before plenty of times. I think I just want you to be honest with me more than anything else.”

He tips your chin up so you’re looking up into those fathomless blue eyes and his smile is equal parts kind and utterly devious. “I’m always honest.”

He kisses you. It’s different than before. This kiss isn’t a statement, but rather a question. It’s passionate, but contained. He’s asking what you want without actually saying it. You can end it here and be safe, or you can let go and see where this thing goes. It might be everything you ever dreamt of…or it might be an unmitigated disaster that will forever destroy your trust in men.

Screw it.

America. _Fuck yeah._

By the time you have the strength to stop kissing him, your arms are around his neck and his hands are settled on your waist and everything feels right as rain. Wordlessly, you grip his hand and lead him inside the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry. I'm not going to leave you hanging. Bonus chapter coming soon.
> 
> And speaking of coming...heh heh heh...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve puts the 'fuck' in 'Captain fucking America' and you're along for the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *SLAPS A BIG OLD 'SMUT WARNING' SIGN OVER THE FIC*
> 
> So yeah. 
> 
> Time to get laid.
> 
> 'Nuff said. 
> 
> (But if you don't like explicit sex, please move along. This is the final chapter, and I intend to go out with a bang. *rimshot*)

America.

_Fuck yeah._

Despite being incredibly inappropriate, it’s what skitters through your mind as you lead Captain America towards your bedroom. Saying in your head makes you think you’re going to wake up any second on sheets drenched in sweat. It has to be a dream. There is no way you’re about to have sex with a goddamn superhero.

Except you are.

His hand is warm and strong wrapped around yours as you finally tug him inside your bedroom and shut the door. You face him, your breath light and quick now, your eyes adjusting to the darkness. There’s just a hint of moonlight pouring in from the window. Steve tugs you close and cups your face between his hands, leaning his forehead against yours, smiling softly, his voice gentle.

“Are you sure?”

You nod. He tilts your face slightly and kisses you. Slowly. So very, very slowly. Your entire body lights up like the Fourth of July. You get pleasantly dizzy from the plushness of his lips, from the heat of his upper body radiating off of him, from the scent of his aftershave and cologne. This is it. This is everything you never knew you wanted.

Him.

His hands start to drift; first, his fingertips graze your bare shoulders, then your arms, and then your waist. They glide back up either side of you, his knuckles brushing the underside of your arms as you cling to the front of his shirt because your knees are so weak. You suppress a gasp as one hand goes behind your back and you hear the zipper of your dress and feel the material loosening around you. Steve pushes the straps down your arms and the dress flutters around your feet. You step out of it, as well as the heels, and shiver as he licks the inside of your mouth, coaxing you to kiss him deeper as he guides you backward toward the bed.

You stretch out onto the mattress. He stays standing at the edge of the bed, watching you for a moment, those valiant blue eyes turning a few shades darker with lust. Goosebumps rise all over you from that look. It’s devastating.

He slides out of the motorcycle jacket and the boots. Then the shirt. Your entire body pulses with utter need as you see those sculpted muscles in his chest, his abs, his biceps. He is perfection. He might as well have been created by a Greek god. You’re slightly embarrassed as you notice your mouth actually watered at the sight of his chest and that insane shoulder-to-waist ratio, a result of both a killer workout and the Super Soldier serum. It’s almost hard to breathe, looking up at him from so close.

Steve crawls onto the bed above you, planting his knees on either side of your legs, effectively straddling you. His gaze roves over you, from your slightly mussed hair down over your face, your neck, your breasts, your stomach, your legs, until it stops at your feet. For an instant, a tiny worm of insecurity wiggles through your guts. What if he doesn’t like what he sees?

You open your mouth to say something self-deprecating, but he stoops down and kisses you. You forget every last word in the English language. The kiss is that damned good.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, as if he’d read the expression on your face a moment ago.

“Ditto,” you murmur back, and he grins. You wrap your arms around his neck and tug him back down to your lips, eager for more, to taste him, to touch him, to feel every inch of him that he offers to you. You arch up off the bed a little as he trails one big hand down your side and then back up, until it slides behind your back to your bra strap. It pops loose a second later and you shrug it off.

You had been mistaken before. Steve’s gaze was hot when you were in just the lingerie. It’s now volcanic as it falls across your bare breasts. He’s staring down at you like he’s just discovered the Ark of the Covenant and before you can think to do anything, his mouth surrounds your right nipple.

Thank God you don’t have a roommate. You moan so loud you’re pretty sure they heard it in New Jersey.

He growls under his breath in approval as he hears you moan and licks over the hardened tip of your breast, his lips sucking just barely. Pleasure explodes through you. You can’t help setting your fingernails into his back as he swirls the sensitive mound of flesh with his tongue in devastatingly patient patterns. You try to hold still, but his touch makes you writhe, and every time your body brushes up against his, he exhales, as if trying to exercise restraint of some sort. He switches to the left breast and his fingers take over for the other one, massaging, kneading, teasing the nipple. He doesn’t stop until you’re gasping for air underneath him, and when he does, it’s only for a far more sinister reason.

He wraps his hands around your ribs, his slightly calloused fingertips tracing their shape as he kisses your collarbone. Then your sternum. Then you realize, your face flushing even more, than he’s heading… _south_.

“S-Steve,” you stammer, your eyes threatening to roll back in your head as his hot, soft lips pass your navel. “Y-You don’t have to…y’know…”

“Ma’am,” he says severely, feigning a strict tone as he flicks his gaze up at you. “Where I come from, a gentleman takes care of a lady before thinking about himself.”

Damn. That was a good line. You blush even harder. He takes it as a sign to continue and grasps both your knees, pulling them up and apart. He hooks his thumbs inside the panties and draws them down your legs one inch at a time.

You’re naked now.

You’re naked and trapped underneath Captain America.

_And he’s about to go down on you._

Your nerves can’t stand it. You cover your face with both hands out of sheer humiliation of the very thought. Again, you hear Steve chuckle softly and then he grips your wrists, tugging your hands away.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he says playfully. “Eyes on me, gorgeous.”

You can’t help the tiny squeak that escapes as he grips your ankles to lift your legs until both are resting atop his broad shoulders. The skin contact is like doing heroin. God, he’s so warm and firm. He holds himself on his forearms and the bastard has the nerve to wink at you right before lowering his face to your very, _very_ wet entrance.

Then he licks you.

You grab two handfuls of the sheets on either side of you and moan his name like there is no other word you’ve ever been taught in the English language.

There aren’t enough words in any language to describe how good it feels. It’s just—like him—perfect. Golden heat spreads through your lower body and out into your veins. Your skin is on fire. Your breath comes out in shaky gasps.

And that was just from one…damn…lick.

He’s going to kill you. You’re sure of it.

Steve sighs wistfully and does it again, curling his tongue at the end of the second stroke, his lips parting to taste even more of you. He spreads your thighs wider and sinks into the motion flawlessly, lapping at your delicate, sensitive folds, ending every other pass with a kiss over your spot. The entire world vanishes around you. There is only you and him and the heat of his mouth on your sex. Before long, you’re mewling, whimpering, restless against his wondrous torture. You don’t even remember when you slide your hands into his golden hair and hold him right where you need him, or when his hands clamp down over your thighs to hold you still, or when he lifts you off the mattress and shoves his tongue inside your melting heat in a frantic rhythm.

The floodgates open. You go rigid and cry out sharply as the orgasm bursts inside you. It rakes through you in waves like the warm Caribbean ocean on a hot day at the beach. You can’t tell how long it lasts, seconds, minutes, or eternity. You just know you’ve not once felt this good in your entire life.

Sometime later, you get your bearings again. He’s back above you on all fours, his mouth clean, meaning you’ve probably been out of it for a bit, to your utter embarrassment. He kisses you, and you see that rare shyness from him as he actually starts to mumble, “Was that—”

“Yes,” you say breathlessly, and emphatically. “That was….holy shit, was that…forget it. They haven’t invented a word for how good that was yet.”

To your delight, he actually blushes a bit. “Good.”

Somehow, the genuine relief on his face makes you feel a little bolder. You press a short, sweet kiss to his lips and then waggle your eyebrows. “My turn.”

He’s actually surprised as you roll him over and balance on all fours above him. God, does he look pretty lying there shirtless on your sheets. You want to take a picture, blow it up to a 24x36, and frame it.

But speaking of blowing…

You undo the belt and the button of his jeans, unzipping them to reveal dark blue boxer shorts. He wriggles out of them and you take a seat across his thighs, taking a deep breath to steady yourself as you remove the boxer shorts.

Jesus titty-fucking Christ.

He is a Captain for a goddamn reason.

For one comical second, you’re not sure if you can handle him, but you ignore the thought and do what you’ve been honestly wanting to do to him for months.

You remind yourself not to rush as you wrap your fingers around his cock and stroke him slowly, leisurely, almost the way he had when his mouth was on your breasts. He inhales sharply and arches against your palm on instinct, his hands balling into fists. A fleeting look of embarrassment settles over his features, but you quietly murmur for him to relax, and he does. You flip your hair over one shoulder, tucking stray strands behind your ear, and take him in your mouth.

The sound he makes is positively wonderful.

It’s a combination of your name and “God” and a gasp and a moan. Shudders spill down your naked spine. You’re suddenly very proud that you could evoke that kind of response out of him. You draw the length of his cock out of your mouth, circle the tip with your tongue, and then take him in a second time. His chest heaves up and down, matching the rhythm you build, your tongue curling along the underside of the shaft, your mouth forming a suction over it, until everything is warm and wet and his tanned skin flushes in reaction to how good you’re making him feel. It’s fantastic. You want to burn this image into your brain forever. He’s gorgeous this way.

By the time your hand is gently cupping his balls, he reaches for you and pulls you up, muttering something about not being able to handle much more. You’re suddenly straddling him. He doesn’t let it register—his hand plunges into your hair and he yanks you down to his mouth for a fiery, hungry, urgent kiss. You can’t help it. You moan and grip his shoulders because you need something to hold onto, something to ground you, or you’ll float away into the atmosphere from sheer pleasure. You’ve never been this wet or hot for a man before. You’re going to lose your mind if he doesn’t take you right this damn—

He enters you.

It.

Is.

_Bliss._

You hear a gasp. You’re not sure if it comes from him or you or both. Heat simmers up through your lower body and fans out across your skin. Swirling whorls of pleasure follow the streaks of heat. Steve’s other hand glides down to grip your waist as he keeps pushing you down, down, down onto his cock, until every last inch has disappeared inside your dripping wet softness. The whole world stops spinning. You can feel the edges of the universe in this one moment.

Steve nibbles your upper lip and your eyes open. You hadn’t even realized you’d closed them. You see the lust that’s glazed over those fathomless eyes, but beneath it is actual concern. “You okay?”

“Great,” you sigh, nibbling his lower lip.

“Keep going?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Steve laughs—a short, but adorable sound—and grips your forearms. He pulls you up his body a little more so you can rest them around his neck and so that your bottom fits comfortably in the groove of his pelvis. You purr like a cat as he strokes your bare spine with his hands, drawing circles over the small of your back, kissing you like he wants to swallow you whole.

Then he moves.

Paradise is the only word you can think of.

You move together, slowly at first—him lifting his hips to slide that long cock as deep as it can go inside you, you rearing up when his hips lower themselves back to the bed, a give and take, one of your favorite ways to make love. The rhythm comes to you naturally. It’s poetry in motion.

He starts thrusting up into you faster. You match his speed, riding him, kissing him on odd breaths, moaning steadily louder the wetter and tighter you get around his cock. You feel him shiver when you moan his name and he grips you closer to him. Too soon, you feel that quivering sensation in your belly and your toes curl with the natural progression of fantastic sex. You want to last longer. You don’t want it to end.

But Steve has other ideas.

The devious bastard slides his hand down your tight stomach, palm up, until he reaches between your thighs. You cry out as his fingertips discover your clit and circle it in between thrusts.

“Steve,” you gasp. “D-Don’t…or I’m gonna…”

“I want you to,” he whispers. “It’s okay.”

He spreads your legs wider with his thighs, and it opens you to him even more. His hips pound up into yours. It’s too much. There’s too much pleasure filling you up and spilling over, filling every corner of your body. His skin feels scorching hot. His cock strikes deeper inside you, hitting that hidden nerve you didn’t even know you had, but it’s too late.

“God… _Steve!_ ” You can’t finish the thought because you’ve just come. You convulse above him, helplessly pushing down into his fingers and onto his cock at the same time. Ecstasy coats you from head to toe and you float off into its intoxicating embrace.

You wake up a few minutes later, your face tucked under his chin, limp and drunk and so blindingly happy that it’s insane.

God bless him, he’s stroking your hair the whole time, humming some old tune to himself while you recover, and he doesn’t seem to be in any big hurry. He seems…at home. Which just makes you even happier.

You gather what little strength you have left and lift yourself over him, running a hand through his sweaty, tousled locks as you kiss him, putting all your gratefulness into it.

“Can I keep you?”

Steve blinks and then laughs again, surprised at the question. “You’ll have a hard time getting rid of me.”

You smile. “I’ll hold you to that, Cap.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You kiss him again and then give him another eyebrow waggle. “Your turn.”

“My what?” He makes a cute little noise as you wrestle him on top of you this time, beaming up at him. He actually blushes a bit, having not expected it, or that you would be so concerned with his needs.

“You don’t have to—”

“Sir,” you say in the same faux-stern tone he’d used with you. “Where I come from, a lady takes care of her gentleman. I insist.”

You reach down and grip him, still hard and ready and eager, in your hand. He shivers and doesn’t argue this time. You part your legs and press light, sweet kisses over his jaw, his neck, next to his ear.

“I…” He struggles to finish the sentence. “I’m worried I might hurt you.”

“I don’t break easily,” you whisper back. “Let go, Steve. I can take it.”

He meets your gaze for a moment, as if weighing your words, and to your relief, he nods. You guide him inside you again and oh merciful God, it feels even better with him on top. This time, you’re granted the utterly beautiful sight of him balancing over you on his palms. The moonlight streaming in from the window paints him all silver and blue and he’s just too delicious. He sees the adoration on your face and smiles, kissing you in wordless thanks, gripping your thigh to wrap it around his waist. Oh, hell. It makes your hips tilt at an angle and then he’s pressing that hard, contoured body into you and you’re flattened between the soft cushion of the mattress and his muscles and you’re moaning so hard that your throat dries up because it feels so damned _good_.

Your head rolls back onto the pillows as he settles into a rhythm and he lays open-mouthed kisses along your throat, biting gently over your pulse, until you’re making animalistic sounds of pleasure that make him even more excited. You loop your other leg around him and hold on tight, using what little room you have to arch into every thrust, to bring him deeper inside you, until you’re desperately clinging to him as he shoves his cock inside you again and again, in and out, until your skin is damp with sweat and your body starts to tremble as you ride the shining edge towards the climax.

He shifts. He plants his hands lower, down by your waist on either side, changing the point of entry and the balance in his gorgeous, athletic form, and then he thrusts even harder.

You lose it.

“Mm…Steve… _please_ …” You hear yourself gasp out, your voice so hoarse that you barely recognize it. You can’t finish the sentence. You don’t know if you want him to stop or to fuck you harder. You’re just so keyed up and restless and you need something you can’t quite put into words.

He moans as you rake your nails down his back and then grip the strong, flat muscles above his taut backside, and he mutters your name into your ear. He’s close. So, so close. You want it. You want him to feel exactly what you’re feeling, what he’s made you feel.

“Come,” you whisper. “Please, Steve. Come for me.”

It breaks him. His body curls around you for a second and then his hips pound yours frantically, pinning you there, and you scream as his cock hits your spot over and over until you’re writhing and he’s writhing and then that miracle occurs. Everything inside you is molten hot and he melts right into it, moaning your name one last time as his cock throbs and twitches as he reaches his release. He holds himself over you for a moment longer and then collapses. Your bodies are tangled and you can’t tell whose limb is whose, but you don’t care because you’re on Cloud Nine and you’re not floating down anytime soon.

You both drift off for a while, but eventually he gathers himself up and flops to one side so he isn’t accidentally crushing you. He wraps an arm around your back and folds you into his chest. Captain America likes to cuddle. It’s so perfectly him.

“Steve?” you mumble, just as you start to relax into sleep.

“Mm-hmm?”

“I’m glad we did this.”

He chuckles and presses a kiss to your hair and the last thing you hear before you’re asleep is:

“Me too, neighbor.”

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love how vanilla this fic started out and then we ended on that note. I'm a mess. This is what happens when Chris Evans hugs you--irreversible Cap thirst. 
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely hits, comments, and kudos. I did this all for you and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed imagining--I mean, writing it. Same difference. 
> 
> Kthxbai.


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